


roughhouse

by a_static_world



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: :), Arthur's Got Too Much Energy, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Merlin's Magic Likes Arthur, POV Merlin (Merlin), Roughhousing, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: “Spar with me.”Merlin slowly lowers the mercifully hole-free shirt he’d been inspecting. Arthur hasn’t asked him to spar - well, demanded, really - since Merlin first started working under him. It tended to end in disaster, and after three or four concussions and several months of getting to know Arthur, he began to flat-out refuse. He’s since bulked up a fair amount (regular meals and years of lugging laundry will do that to a man), but he can’t imagine it will go any better this time around.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 272





	roughhouse

Arthur, for all his kingly composure, contains more energy than any man Merlin’s met. He’ll wake up in the morning, dead to the world - that is, until he’s got half his breakfast in him, and then he’s going. Pacing around the room, gesticulating with a piece of toast that causes Merlin to wince with every spray of crumbs. Merlin, of course, absorbs only enough to interject with properly-placed  _ mmm’ _ s and  _ yes, of course _ ’s, cleaning up the avalanche Arthur trails in his wake.

This morning, Arthur’s off on some tangent about the knights, waving his knife around in a manner that would make any other servant wince. Merlin’s more concerned about the threadbare nature of Arthur’s shirts, and thus misses a few more non-responses than usual. The knights either aren’t training well, aren’t training hard enough, or are training too hard, and Arthur feels like he’s falling behind. Merlin’s heard every variation of the one-sided discussion, and could probably recite it in his sleep. Has, if what Gaius tells him is of any merit. Of course, he can and will validate Arthur’s feelings to no end, but he’s learned it’s better to let the man get all his thoughts out first.  _ Does the castle have a moth problem? _

“-aren’t here, you know.  _ Mer _ lin, are you even listening to me?”

“This shirt’s got  _ three holes  _ in it, Arthur, what the hell?”

Arthur only sighs, bracing his elbows on the table and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. Merlin merely continues sorting the laundry, legs criss-crossed on the floor. Another thing about Arthur: let a silence hang long enough, and he’ll fill it. It’s how Merlin learned everything he knows about the man, honestly.

“Spar with me.”

Merlin slowly lowers the mercifully hole-free shirt he’d been inspecting. Arthur hasn’t asked him to spar - well,  _ demanded _ , really - since Merlin first started working under him. It tended to end in disaster, and after three or four concussions and several months of getting to know Arthur, he began to flat-out refuse. He’s since bulked up a fair amount (regular meals and years of lugging laundry will do that to a man), but he can’t imagine it will go any better this time around. Still, he’s curious.

“Why?”

Arthur huffs, tipping his head back up to meet Merlin’s gaze. 

“All the knights are gone on patrols, even Sir Leon. I need someone to spar with. You’re looking...stronger.”

Merlin ignores the way Arthur’s gaze flicks up and down his body, pretends not to catch how the man’s eyes widen as he unfolds himself from the floor and stretches. There’s only so much one-sided pining one can take before tapping out, and even though Gwen did end up with Lancelot, that entire incident was enough to make him tap  _ all  _ the way out. 

(Which is what he tells himself in times like these, where Arthur’s eyes  _ still _ haven’t left the line of his shoulders, and he feels rather more... _ seen _ ...than usual.)

“Okay, fine. But only because I’m likely to be fired if I refuse.”

Gauging by the shit-eating grin on Arthur’s face, this is one of those decisions he’ll likely end up regretting. 

They’re outside before the fog has burned off, and the grass is slick under Merlin’s feet as they trudge to the training field. The sun diffuses through the remaining mist, giving the field an early-morning glow that he’s unaccustomed to seeing. Merlin rolls out his neck, shakes out his arms, mimicries of the warm-ups he’s watched a thousand times over, but ones that seem to loosen his body despite how odd they feel.

Arthur doesn’t head to the armory. He draws two rolls of bandages from his pockets, tossing one to Merlin.  _ Thank the fucking goddess for Gwaine _ . The amount of times Merlin’s had to wrap Gwaine’s hands (including on the fly at barfights) is enough that he feels comfortable enough to wrap his own, though he’s strangely sure Arthur would help if he asked. Soon enough, they’re both wrapped and flexing their hands, making last minute adjustments. Merlin’s got the vague sense that they’re both stalling.

They look up at the same time, and the energy shifts. The light, mist-scented atmosphere of before disappears, and a thrumming, heavy tension replaces it. Merlin can feel his magic spark in him, forcing him to relax his knees, drop into a semi-crouch. It’s reaching towards Arthur, though, like it always does, and Merlin just barely snatches it back before Arthur’s fist comes straight for his jaw.

He doesn’t need his magic to remind him to duck.

They’re in it, then. No pretext, no preamble, just frantic jabbing and dodging. Their boots squelch against the wet grass, in sharp contrast against their panting. At some point, their feet catch on a slick patch and they tumble, grappling at each other’s arms and sliding around on their knees, rolling and flipping and grabbing at whatever they can. It’s a strange release, like...like Merlin’s finally able to let his guard down in a way that won’t get him killed. Like he can express the roaring inside of him and still keep his secret safe.

The distraction of that single thought gives Arthur enough time to flip them, so that Merlin’s slammed flat on his back, a pair of kingly thighs straddling his midsection. They’re both muddy, heaving for breath, and Arthur’s got so much grass in his hair it’s nearly green. The rising sun haloes his head from behind, though, and suddenly Merlin is breathless in a different way. The restless, frantic energy drains out of the air, and Arthur grins, squeezing Merlin’s sides with his legs. Teasing, and maybe it’s the adrenaline rush, maybe it’s the weirdness of this whole...whatever, but something in Merlin just  _ snaps _ .

He fists a hand in Arthur’s shirt, pulls him down so that their faces are nearly touching, feeling the man’s hair brushing at his forehead. He pauses, then; a man with magic is a dead man, and a man who desires other men-

Arthur’s mouth is on his before he can finish the thought, and  _ holy goddess above _ . He’s kissing the  _ King of Camelot _ , and there are  _ far _ too many layers to this to unpack right now. There are more pressing matters at hand. 

(Literally).

They stay there for goddess knows how long, kissing in the sun-warmed field. Merlin’s afraid that if he opens his eyes, the bubble will burst, and this - everything he’s ever wanted - will come crashing down. It’s all a luxury he rather feels like he can’t afford, and the wide-open training grounds don’t do anything to ease that feeling. So he pulls back, readjusts himself on his elbows in lieu of looking at Arthur. The other man doesn’t shift from his position, though by now his thighs must be aching. Merlin can already feel the bruises forming, and not just the ones he got from sparring.

When he does look up, Arthur’s looking right back at him. And goddess, he’s got such a soft, stricken expression on his face that Merlin can’t help but laugh. It bubbles up from deep in his chest, relief and hysteria mixing in the midmorning air. He has to squeeze his eyes shut against the force of it all, collapsing back into the grass and covering his face with a hand. When he calms down, forces the air back into his lungs and opens his eyes, Arthur looks singularly concerned.

“Merlin, I-”

“Oh, just kiss me again, you brute.”

Arthur complies. They stay there until the knights return, whooping and hollering at the sight of them asleep on the grass, curled around each other. They wear matching sheepish smiles as they stand and stretch, forcing distance between them for the sake of...Merlin doesn’t know. Normalcy? 

The preservation of “normal” doesn’t last long, though. Arthur reaches over to ruffle the grass out of Merlin’s hair, and places a kiss where his hand was, causing another ruckus from the knights. Gwaine and Elyan make extended gagging sounds, and Leon merely mutters something that might be “ _ finally”  _ and elbows Lancelot, who only grins. As the group laughs and jostles its way back into the castle, Arthur’s hand finds its way into Merlin’s.

(It’s not going to be too difficult to get used to this, he thinks.)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote another merlin thing because time doesn't exist and i'm slowly regressing back into my beginning of quarantine phase....eugh  
> so much is happening all the time but i have a therapist now so!! it's helping!!   
> how are y'all dealing with the supernatural finale? sam in that party city wig literally made me cry so hard i was heaving (just ask [oddconstellation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts))  
> as always, stay safe & hydrated and wear your masks! come visit me at [tumblr](https://astaticworld.tumblr.com/) for a chat or occasional witcher hot-takes ;)  
> <3 static


End file.
